


Daggers of Truce

by Aly_H



Series: Two Wardens and a Lady [7]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Calm Day, F/M, Gen, I hate tagging, M/M, Mahariel grudgingly accepts the assassin, before the Zev/Warden relationship begins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 15:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10596546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aly_H/pseuds/Aly_H
Summary: Every seventh day the Wardens and their party get a rest from the constant walking to recuperate. Surana is done with how his fellows are treating the Zevran Arainai and for once Mahariel has to admit that the Mage Warden may be right.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my "Two Wardens and a Lady" series (which seriously needs a better name still) which is the idea that Fen Mahariel and Falcon Surana were both recruited into the Wardens. I'm writing this as short stories (and not in a particular order). 
> 
> Please enjoy!

“Okay, give me the bow back, you’re going to kill someone,” Fen’s voice across camp was full of laughter. “Really, I thought they taught Templars how to shoot.”

“It’s not important,” Falcon was sat cross legged, his shirt was off and his arm held in front of him, the oldest of the company’s three mages examining it with her magic. He’d been watching Alistair’s archery lessons with growing amusement. “Templars hunt mages, remember? They don’t want to fight us at range, even if our spells won’t hurt _them_ a smart mage knows to hit a wall by them to knock it over. They won’t teach you that in the Circle though, so mostly you get those tactics with apostates.”

“And where did _you_ learn such a thing, young man?” Wynne frowned at the younger Circle-trained mage.

The assassin was currently occupying himself with the care of his own equipment while he watched the others, his eyes lingering on the Wardens whose fates he’d tied his own to.

All three had seemed to have opted for a shirtless day – which was probably why their laundry was hanging from a nearby tree to dry after being washed that morning. Neither he (nor Leliana or Morrigan, if he were to judge those lingering glances) objected to such a view. All three of the Wardens were quite handsome men.

Alistair was well built, reflecting the heavy armor and weapons that he used. And for all the man couldn’t quite match the speeds of his rogueish companions he was no slouch when fully armored. His well-muscled build reflected that simple fact. It wasn’t to his taste when he had a preference but he had to admit that it was a rather nice view. Ferelden would have another swoon-worthy king if they managed to crown him.

Fen’s shirtless condition was mostly by virtue of the lack of clean ones available to him, that and he knew that Morrigan’s eyes lingered on him so he was showing off just a little. For once the elf’s long brown hair was let down rather than in a braid as well, the poor locks showing the indents of its constant restraint. He was a lean man, his arms and chest well-developed from his use of a bow, but the rest of the package was nothing to scoff at.

The youngest Warden’s back was a network of scars left by electricity – it was a surprise to see that he didn’t lack the musculature that his fellows had though. It wasn't as prominent, and likely the result of the curious magical training he was attempting to teach himself out of the book he carried - 'knight enchanter' or something. Falcon had explained it to him a few nights before when asked but much of it had devolved into magical jargon that the Crow wasn't equipped to keeup up with. The pattern of the scars had been burnt at an angle down his back as if the mage had reached over his own shoulder and left the scarring.

Zevran smiled slightly to himself thinking of stories about the things mages could do with electricity in bed. He’d slept with mages a few times and mostly had found them to be a little too inexperienced as lovers to have begun bringing their powers into bed with them.

Still, his eyes trailed back to the Wardens. Scars – all three of them were marked by arrow injuries. Fen had three or four in his ribs, Alistair had been hit in his stomach, and Falcon’s scars were placed dangerously near the mage’s heart. The marks left from Ostagar, if he had to guess, he might have asked how all three young Wardens sustained what should’ve been mortal wounds and walked away but he suspected that the only one who might answer that question was the lovely Morrigan and she would never choose to do so.

Drawing his thoughts away from his own reverie he returned to watching the Wardens:

Fen was looking at Alistair, for confirmation as to what Falcon had said.

“That’s true. I’m better with a crossbow.”

“ _Uh-huh_ ,” was the unconvinced reply. “Whatever you say, _lethallin_. Didn’t you have something for Falcon from that merchant we met on patrol?”

The Dalish leader insisted that every six days – if the company wasn’t needed somewhere urgently – they take a rest day to heal, repair their goods and rest. The wardens took turns patrolling the area for trouble but it was a relaxed time.

Alistair frowned a little, going to fetch something from near his packs. A thin leather bound book, the sort that artists used for sketching. It was a common pursuit in Antiva. He offered it to Falcon. “I know you were upset when you lost the one Duncan had given you after Ostagar.”

“Thank you,” the mage was smiling, though surprise was written over his face too. He’d apparently not thought that his companions would remember such a thing. Perhaps he should see if the old woman might tell him some of what life in the Circle was like, alas she would likely start questioning his moral compass _again_ if he did so.

“You’re not upset? Leliana was worried that it might be because of your hand…”

“I was never a very _good_ artist, being a little clumsier won’t hurt a thing,” he reassured his friend.

Fen frowned at him from where he was standing, “You will heal, Falcon. Such injuries take time and you reinjured it yesterday casting the healing on the Crow when you should’ve been using a Mind Blast to give yourself room.”

Zevran frowned slightly, there was a flash of a glare that shifted to guilt and then the black haired elf wasn’t looking at anyone.

“Morrigan and Wynne won’t cast healing spells on him unless it’s desperate,” the mage muttered. Zevran had noticed that about the other two mages – Morrigan would probably let him succumb but Wynne’s conscience wouldn’t let him die though. And he carried plenty of healing potions, at the young mage’s insistence mostly, it did not concern him.

“Do not concern yourself with me, my dear Warden. I assure you, that I have survived far worse,” Zevran spoke up – earning a surprised glance from Fen but a glare from Falcon.

“You’re not with the Crows anymore, you can expect more from the people around you now,” the black haired elf was frowning at him. “You’re my comrade, and this shouldn’t even be up for debate.”

Nothing further was said of the argument, conversation slowly drifting to less rocky topics, and Falcon had gone over to the fire usually occupied by Morrigan, the two of them doubtlessly discussing magical theory. It’d been a few hours and he’d moved on from repairing his armor to insuring his many blades had edges.

“That blade’s no good,” Fen’s voice wasn’t a surprise when it came –the archer had taken care to circle around and into his line of sight before speaking. It was a courtesy that he extended Leliana and Falcon but seemed to forget to do so for the others in the party – however it seemed that he had chosen to extend it to Zevran as well. Perhaps it was a sign of who he considered dangerous?

Zevran glanced down at the dagger he’d been trying to sharpen. It was true – the blade was a cheap one, he had not expected to be using the weapons for long and so had not taken his usual amount of care in selecting them.

He wasn’t quite sure why the Dalish elf had approached him, and so he stilled his attempts and watched instead.

“He’s a pain to look after and doesn’t have much sense in his head but _Da’ean_ was right – whether we like how you came to join us or not, you are here,” the archer sighed and reached behind his back, unclipping two long daggers from his belt – Dalish blades, finely crafted with elegant, yet plain ironbark handles and that wicked curve to them most elvish weapons had.

He lay the matched _dar’misu_ in front of the Antivan assassin rather than handing them to him directly.

Brown eyes traced the weapons, before going back up to the hunter’s face – he wasn’t quite sure what to make of this, and his mind was still scrambling for an answer – surely some payment was expected, somehow…but what? It wasn’t that he didn’t want those blades, even without touching them he knew they were as almost as fine quality as his favorite pair.

“Why?”

“ _Da’ean_ trusts you for some reason,” the hunter shrugged helplessly. “I have caused him enough hurt already. If he wishes you here it is not my place to disagree. I will watch – and I will still kill you if you mean him harm but you are one of us until you betray him.”

“Ah, does this mean I too will become ‘ _lethallin’_ rather than having my own name?” the Antivan asked – it wasn’t nearly as suave as he was trying for but the grudging acceptance was more than he’d ever expected from Fen.

This drew a laugh, as the elf stood, “No, I don’t think you have to worry about that for some time. You are welcome here – for now – but you are not kin to me yet, Crow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on elvish because Fen is too Dalish to even notice he's using it half the time:  
> Lethallin - Literately 'kinsman'. Fen uses it with most the Party because he's adopted them as a sort of surrogate clan.  
> Dar'misu - A type of elvish dagger  
> Da'ean - Literately "little bird", Fen's nickname for Falcon 
> 
>  
> 
> Special thanks to Fenxshiral and their Project Elvhen, which I'm using as a reference for Fen's elvish.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
